First Dove Hunt

I remember by first dove hunt. It was probably my third year of hunting, and I had all but resigned to the fact that I had to wait until the second Saturday of November. Pheasant hunting was all I knew at that point, and opening day seemed a long way away. When Dad learned a little about dove hunting, we talked about going. I can still almost taste the excitement that filled me as we anticipated an evening hunt. That afternoon, as we readied our gear, our neighbor called to see if I could mow his lawn that evening. I mowed his lawn regularly that summer, and he was my largest single source of income at the time. I was nearly in tears when I got off the phone, thinking our dove hunt was cancelled. Dad just chuckled and said, "Just call him back and tell him you'll mow tomorrow night. He won't mind." Dad was right, and I was back in business. We set up in the abandoned farmstead where Dad had grown up and waited. Just as we'd been told, doves started showing up to roost in the big elms and cottonwoods. We both managed to kill a couple of doves that evening - not a huge bag by most standards, but it was an incredibly successful hunt for me. I've dove hunted each fall since, and I imagine the memory of that first hunt is part of what draws me back every September. Never underestimate the power of passing it on.